The Present is Enough

She was incredible in the same way as Jupiter, the way it’s there, six hundred million miles away at perihelion, right in plain sight which isn’t plain at all – no, it’s miraculous, the fact that we inhabit a space so infinite, that we can see something so distant just by looking up, but never reach it. It makes a kind of roaring in my ears, knowing that. Sometimes the Universe is too much.

But under the hard blue skies of summer days at work (when I remember I miss her), a baby junco chirping up at me, the heavy smell of horses and creosote, my stained hands and a smushed brush, and miles of weathered fences planted in the thick of irrepressible creation

will do just fine.


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